


Never The Pupil's Fault

by ElenaCee



Category: Doctor Strange (2016)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Possibly Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:24:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8840986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenaCee/pseuds/ElenaCee
Summary: Stephen pushes himself too hard and Mordo helps him through a moment of weakness.





	

 

Mordo was facing his pupil across the training ground.

He could see that Stephen was beginning to tire; his gaunt face shining with a thin layer of sweat, his movements slowing, his attention faltering. True to the nature of the man, that Mordo was beginning to appreciate more and more the better he got to know him, though, Stephen did not let any of it stop him. His expression continued to convey fierce determination, the same determination that had brought him here and that would, in Mordo’s informed opinion, get him far indeed.

But not today. Mordo would be a bad teacher if he did not recognize the signs. What they were doing was inherently dangerous and could easily end with one or both of them injured if they continued with Stephen in this state.

When he saw Stephen gathering his remaining strength and raise his scarred hands for another practice kata, he held up his hand. “Stop.”

Stephen froze and looked down at himself, visibly checking foot positions. “Why? What’s wrong? I can do this.”

Mordo smiled. Stephen had said this or a variation of this every time Mordo had stopped the man to correct his stance or movements. But it was evident that, by now, a trace of frustration was beginning to creep in. “I know you will, eventually. For now, however, it’s time to stop.”

“No,” Stephen protested, not relaxing his stance. “I need to manage it once. Just once, Karl. How am I supposed to ever get this into muscle memory if I stop before I’ve managed it even one damned time?”

Yes, definitely frustrated. Mordo could empathize. In truth, Stephen hadn’t managed a single spell so far, and his unarmed combat abilities were about what you’d expect from a man who had never held a weapon in his life and had been badly beaten in the only brawl he’d ever been in. “You are asking too much of yourself, Stephen,” Mordo said gently. “These things cannot be rushed.”

Stephen dropped his hands and half turned away. “I’ve gotten two degrees in the time it takes everyone else to get one. Don’t talk to me about not rushing things.” His voice sounded brittle to Mordo’s ears.

Mordo realized then that he should have stopped the lesson sooner. It was becoming obvious to him too late that, while Stephen was trying to put on a brave face, he was clearly close to despair. Nothing was working; none of the spells, none of combat moves. Mordo suspected that he also was still weakened from having been homeless for months, from not eating well, from hardly sleeping, and from the long journey to reach Kamar-Taj, even though he’d been here for a full week now.

While Mordo remained quiet for too long, Stephen raised his hands back up and went through the combination of movements yet again.

Mordo could see it coming. “Stephen, stop!” he yelled, leaping forward, but it was too late.

Inevitably, Stephen lost his balance mid-whirl and fell hard, barely managing to catch himself on his hands to keep from hitting his head. With a sharp cry of pain, he raised his hands, bending over them protectively as he half knelt, half sat on the stony ground.

That was when Mordo reached him, kneeling down next to him and putting an arm across his shoulders, feeling bone and sinew underneath the sweat-soaked acolyte’s tunic, surprised at how thin the man still was.

Stephen raised his head to look at him in amazement at the touch.

“I am sorry,” Mordo said sincerely.

Stephen blinked. “What? Why? I’m the one who’s sorry. If it weren’t for my hands -”

“No, Stephen. I have failed you as a teacher, pushed you too hard. It is never the pupil’s fault, but always the teacher’s.”

“If anything, you’re not pushing me hard  _ enough _ ,” Stephen said, bucking the hand off and looking away, the brittleness back in his voice. “I haven’t managed  _ anything _ except getting bruised and demonstrating to everyone how it’s  _ not _ done, and it’s not like this is black belt level karate -”

“No, it’s not,” Mordo interrupted him, keeping his voice deliberately calm. He sensed that Stephen was on the verge of a breakdown, and it was Mordo’s fault for having allowed things to get this far, for not having seen the signs sooner. Now it was his task to calm him before he cracked. “The first step towards mastery of the mystic arts is bringing mind and body into alignment. It is by far the hardest step. It’s not about learning a succession of movements, it’s about transcending a barrier. Many never master this first step. Many more take years for it.”

“I  _ know  _ all that, Karl!” Stephen said, glaring, and the tone of his voice told Mordo that he was failing his pupil yet again. “I’ve heard it eight or ten times now, and I got it the first time! ‘Be patient, you can’t force it, it’ll take as long as it takes’, yadda yadda yadda, I  _ know _ , okay?”

“Then why -”

“Because I need  _ something, anything  _ to work  _ now _ ! Not in ten years! This-” he waved at the courtyard - “is all I have left! If it turns out that I can’t do this, then there is nothing!  _ Nothing _ ! I need just a tiny spark, a little shred of hope, after all that’s…” His voice broke.

Mordo saw the man’s eyes fill before Stephen turned his head away. “Stephen…” Unsure, he raised his hand but stopped before he touched the man’s shoulder. Stephen had looked so surprised earlier, and Mordo didn’t know whether that had been because his touch was unwelcome.

Meanwhile, Stephen put up one of his scarred hands to wipe his tears away but only succeeded in getting sand in his eyes. “God  _ dammit _ ,” he said, but there was no more heat in his voice, only bone-deep weariness. Mordo thought he understood. This was an old problem; his hands not working right and only making things worse. He had no strength left to rage about that.

“Allow me,” Mordo said, holding out his own hand to Stephen’s dirty one.

He was rewarded with another surprised look out of wet, green-blue eyes. “What…?”

By way of explanation, Mordo gently took hold of Stephen’s right hand like one might hold a very small kitten and began to brush the grains of sand off the palm.

Stephen squirmed a little. “Don’t,” he said, softly.

Mordo looked up, alarmed. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” Stephen said, “it’s just… you don’t have to do that.”

Mordo looked at him, really looked. He thought he might be mistaken, but he got the impression that Stephen seemed… ashamed. Of his hands. In response, he wordlessly put his other hand on top of Stephen’s, encasing it between both of his, and simply held it.

He could feel the raised scars, the faint tremor in the long fingers, could feel Stephen making a weak attempt to draw his hand back, heard him make a sound between a sob and a sigh. And he finally knew that his first impulse had been the right thing to do.

Raising one hand, Mordo reached out and pulled Stephen in, still holding the man’s hand in his other one, and hugged him close.

Apparently, Stephen was done resisting, and simply melted against him, allowing Mordo to hold him up.

They remained like that for a short while, minutes only, as Stephen soaked up the touch like only someone who had been deprived of it for too long can. Mordo gladly gave him what he needed, and finally, Stephen gathered the remains of his strength and self-control, reassembling his determination and sheer bullheaded stamina, leaving Mordo to feel grateful for being allowed to see him like this, to feel him breathe through the crisis.

Then it was over. Stephen pulled away, wiped the back of one hand across his face, and pulled himself to his feet.

Mordo, too, rose. When Stephen met his gaze, composed again, he nodded in acknowledgement and respect.

“Tomorrow?” Stephen said.

Mordo nodded. “Tomorrow.”

As he watched Stephen walk away, for the first time, he felt certain that here was a new Master in the making. It was only a matter of time.


End file.
